Under the Armor
by ryuketsuki
Summary: America isn't what he seems to be. He is so much more, and Russia knows this. Warning: Cutting, bullying, YAOI, severe depression and eventual RusAme
1. Field

**There, you happy sempai? I posted it!**

America pounded his fist against the wall. He couldn't stop it. He could only watch. He could only stand by as he saw a woman shot. He was supposed to be a hero. And it only became worse as the child of the mother cried when she was told. America had to tell the little girl himself, that her mommy had been killed in a fight to stop terrorists in their attempt to set up a bombing. They had caught the men. But he should have done something; he should have taken the bullet. It was his own citizen for god's sake!

He didn't stop hitting the wall until his knuckles were bleeding and tears were streaming down his face. The wall was in bits now.

America stumbled over to the couch.

He had to stay strong, to keep people from finding weak points in his armor. He couldn't let his boss or those around him find out about this. They would mock him, and he was already hated enough.

"You're so annoying. Stop putting your nose places it doesn't belong. You're no hero. So useless." And the worst, maybe because America considered it true, "No-one likes you."

He knew that most of this was probably out of anger and frustration. But it felt so real. Even England and his brother would say cruel things to him. He really did know his brothers name, but… he had always been jealous of how his brother could so easily disappear from a situation. And he knew he shouldn't be so mean to his brother just cause he was jealous, but it felt better to let it out on someone else.

Hero's don't do that.

But he wasn't a hero now was he? People were being hurt everyday and he was doing nothing to stop it.

He knew.

America walked to the kitchen and grabbed a knife.

The nations couldn't die from mortal wounds, and if he was hurt it wouldn't effect anyone.

So he could do this.

He clutched the knife and headed to the bathroom. He dragged the knife across his wrist, unflinching. He watched as the red liquid flowed down his wrist and smiled softly. He pulled the knife across his wrist a few more times before rinsing it off, then rinsing his wrist off as well.

His wrist of course, continued bleeding. America returned the knife to its original spot in the kitchen. He walked to his room, the blood dripping out from the cuts. He'd clean it up before the world meeting tomorrow.

**Xoxoxo!Next Morning!oxoxoX**

America blinked slowly, then sat up. He readjusted his glasses and headed to the shower. He washed his wrist down, then his hair and the rest of his body. As soon as he got out of the shower he dried the wound and slapped a bandage over the cuts, hissing as he did so. These were more deep than the others, and therefor bled more. He secured the bandage, then got dressed. He ignored the hungry growls from his stomach. His fatness was something he could fix by partial starvation. He ate in front of people at the world meeting, usually when it was his turn to talk. Then they couldn't notice how his voice wavered when he spoke.

They would insult him and he would laugh it off like it was nothing.

Gah, that annoying laughter. He did that too so people would be convinced he was happy. And the heros he saw had loud laughs so why shouldn't he?

His own laugh was a quiet one, a bit softer than the usual laugh. So of course he needed to change that about himself.

America got into his car, and made his way to the world meeting. He slowed down then entered the McDonalds parking lot. He went to the drive thru and ordered some hamburgers and some soda.

He headed of to the meeting once again, parking his car to the far end of the parking lot.

He headed into the building, and up the stairs to the top floor. It was so hard to get to the room because he was so damn hungry.

He finally reached the room, huffing and puffing.

The countries in the room turned towards him, most with scowls on their faces.

England was the first to say something. "You're late again! Maybe if you layed off the hamburgers you'd make it up the bloody stairs faster!"

America put a fake pout on though the words stung like needles, "Come'on Iggy! I'm not that late!"

England groaned, "Whatever, sit down so I can finish with my speech."

America did his overly loud heros laugh. "No way man! Your speeches are so long and boring! How about my idea?"

England got ready to start yelling but was interrupted by France, "Come here Arthur! Take a seat!" He patted the chair next to him.

England flushed a deep red and sat down, "Fine you git."

America walked up to the podium and got ready to speak. He made a grab for his briefcase, but it wasn't there. "O-oh hey guys! I must have left my briefcase in my car!" He said, laughing nervously and pulling at his collar.

From the crowd came a snarky reply of, "Probably because he was too worried about his hamburgers."

This earned a few giggles.

America bit his lip, and made sure to keep himself from crying. That would only make it worse. He went to his seat, ignoring the laughter and pulled out a hamburger. He nibbled on it a bit before deciding the room was too hot. He took off his bomber jacket.

England went back up to the podium and finished his speech. America was too busy staring off into space to pay attention.

A few other countries went up to do their speeches, and yet again, America ignored them.

Then he felt something hit his leg, _hard_. He looked to his left where the kick came from to find Russia smiling at him innocently.

America scowled at him and ignored the kick. He put his hamburger down, not wanting to eat it because he already felt like throwing up. People wouldn't notice him not eating this once.

Russia though, apparently didn't like being ignored so he kicked America harder.

America winced, then got up and dumped his half eaten burger and leftover McDonalds food in the trash.

This earned him a mock gasp from the crowd.

He ignored it and went back to his seat.

But by now, England was looking at him with concern. And that meant trouble. He couldn't let England find out so he stood up to leave the room, making sure to grab his jacket in the process. But today really wasn't his day because someone grabbed his wrist as he was a foot from the door.

America turned.

It was Russia.

"Where are you going podsolnechnik?"

America would have normally questioned why Russia called him a sunflower, but right now he was distracted by the fact that Russia had grabbed his wrist.

_He grabbed his wrist._

The wrist that was cut and now bleeding through the bandages. And he didn't have his coat on so the blood was going through his shirt. America tore his wrist away from Russia and ran out the door, jacket trailing behind him. He glanced at his wrist.

Blood.

He pulled his jacket on, successfully hiding it. America ran down the stairs, out the building and to his car. He yanked the door open and got inside. It was only then he stopped running to catch his breath, he began crying, all the stress weighing him down. He started his car up and drove off, his shoulders shaking the whole time. Instead of going home he went to a field. A field that was surrounded by trees and held wildflowers and animals. America stumbled out into the field, the tears on his cheeks finally dry. He let himself fall into a patch of daises. He looked up into the sky, imagining what it would be like to be a bird.

To be free.

Because even though America was called land of the free, home of the brave, he wasn't either. No, he was held back by chains of society and acted like a scared animal.

He pulled a daisy from the ground. He picked at the petals, pulling them out.

He did this until he heard footsteps. Some-one was approaching.

He froze. No no no no no! Someone found him!


	2. He will be loved

**I'M SO SORRY I HAVEN'T UPDATED SOON ENOUGH I FEEL HORRIBLE.**

**I promise to try and update sooner, I was just so busy with classes.**

**All of your reviews were greatly appreciated! XD**

Russia made a grab for America's wrist before he could leave. He was worried about the little American. Something was off today.

"Where are you going podsolnechnik?"

America couldn't possibly understand him, so Russia didn't beat on himself for saying that.

There was a split second that America looked at Russia. Russia could see fear, sadness, and anger behind those beautiful blue eyes. And tears, tears in the corners of his eyes. Then America tore his wrist away from Russia and bolted out of the room.

Russia stared after him in shock, then he looked down at the hand he had tried to hold the American with.

His glove had blood on it. There was a thin layer of red on his brown leather glove.

Why had the American been bleeding? Was he hurt?

No.

Russia sat down.

The American hadn't been bombed so he either had a physical attack on him or-

No.

He wouldn't. America wouldn't self-harm. Or would he?

Russia sat at the table grimacing at the thought while all the countries glared at the door America had left through.

"Such an attention seeker!" Someone said. Another laughed, "His McDonalds order was probably wrong do he _had_ to get more!"

Russia finally had enough of it and slammed his hands down on the table, then stood up. "You are all cowards. Insulting someone behind them and picking away at them! You should be better then that!" With that said, he left the room and went down the stairs to his car. He got in, deciding to find America.

But then he stopped.

How could he find America?

He glanced around the parking lot, and then he saw it.

An oil trail.

It was only tiny spots of course, but America's car must have an oil leak. Russia smiled. It was a good thing he did too. The spots were about an inch in diameter and were present about every ten feet so Russia had to pay extra attention while driving.

He put his car in drive and followed the spots. Thankfully, America took a fairly straight path. The spots eventually led off a side road, and into a small gravel area.

There was America's car.

Russia parked his car then got out. America wasn't in the car so he had to be somewhere close.

He walked into a field surrounded by trees, and the grass was tall enough to come up to his waist. The field was quite pretty, and Russia caught himself smiling when he saw a few sunflowers.

Russia peered around for America, and finally saw an indent in the tall grass. He approached it, his boots making crunching noises and rustling the grass.

**Xoxoxo...I guess this is America's view,I was gonna stop there but I feel bad for not updating soon enough...oxoxoX**

America quickly tried to wipe away any remnants of tears from his face, but he couldn't fix the redness or puffiness of his eyes. So instead he put his arm over his eyes, pretending to be blocking the sun that was beating down on him.

He heard the figure getting closer, and closer, closer.

Then the rustling stopped.

His brother?

No, too much noise.

England?

No.

He didn't care.

America was curious as to who it was, but he kept himself from moving his arm because he did not want to expose weakness.

Then a hand touched his face.

He relaxed.

But who was it? Who cared enough to walk through this grass, to drive out here, and to leave the world meeting?

Who?

The hand finally pulled away, then America felt them lifting him onto their lap and pulling him closer. They gently petted him, and America felt tears sting his eyes again.

He took a huge breath, hoping to stop the tears from falling down his face, but that seemed to make it worse. Soon enough tears were flowing down his face.

He couldn't stop crying, and his body was now shaking from his violent sobbing.

Whoever was holding him was now rocking him back and forth, just a bit.

America stuffed his face into the mystery persons chest, his eyes still closed. He started crying even louder, but silently said sorry to the persons who's jacked he was soaking with tears. He took a deep breath, and tried to control himself.

But what was that?

His sobs became quieter, until he was only sniffling.

He took another breath, this time through his nose.

What was that smell?

He'd smelled this before. What was it? It wasn't bad, just... odd.

He took another breath.

Wait.

No.

Was that-

Vodka?

America stopped breathing for a moment.

It just had to be the one that harassed him the most, didn't it?

He pulled his arms away a tad bit, just to push Russia away.

But wait.

Russia was being kind, comforting. He was holding America, caring for him.

Why?

Many nations considered America a stupid idiot. But he wasn't.

America could piece a few things together, and he began to suspect.

The footsie under the table, the harassment, the comforting, the supposed aggression when America spoke to England.

Did Russia... like him?

No.

But how could someone-

But yes...

America finally opened his eyes, even though he was still pushed up against Russia's chest. He pulled back a bit.

And looked.

Indeed it was Russia, but he was different.

Russia's eyes weren't guarded as he looked at America.

And America could see longing in those eyes, and worry, and love.

America stared back at Russia for a while before Russia brought him into a kiss. America was shocked, but didn't push him away, he finally relaxed and kissed back.

For the first time in a long while, America was happy.

He pulled away from the kiss, pulling in air. His gaze met Russia's as he spoke two words, "Thank you."

Russia smiled then stood up, carrying America with him.

"No matter how alone you feel podsolnechnik, I will always be there for you." He said softly.

America nuzzled his face into Russia's neck and hummed in reply.

Russia put America in his own car, "I will see you at your house, da?"

America nodded then started his car up.

**I don't know when the next update shall be, but I hope you enjoyed this chappie as much as the last. Please don't shoot me...**


	3. Kiss my wounds

**I did, an update thingy.**

Russia went back to his car and started it up, then pulled out. He headed to McDonalds because when he had held America, he was much to light.

America passed him when he turned a different corner, his car passing by and continuing down the street.

Russia pulled into the McDonalds parking lot and went to the drive thru. He ordered four hamburger meals, a Big Mac meal, and a chocolate shake. He handed the worker the money and nonchalantly said, "Keep the change." And left the drive thru. Russia pulled up to America's house, and parked the car. He hurried to the door and didn't bother knocking since America already knew he was coming.

As soon as Russia stepped into the house, he noticed how clean it was. Because of all the rumors of how America was such a snob Russia assumed it would be trashed.

He felt horrible for that.

Russia entered the house, shutting the door behind him. The house was draped in a complete silence, the noise of his footsteps resonating throughout the house. "America?" He called out softly. He walked into what seemed to be the living room, and saw the familiar head of blond hair by the couch. Russia walked over, "America, I brought you food." He got a bit closer.

America wasn't wearing his jacket, so the bandage on his arm was shown. Russia saw blood coming through the bandage, America's hand gripping the wounds and scratching at them.

Russia dropped the McDonalds, "America!" He pulled the nation's hand away from the wound, and looked up at his face.

It was blank, and his eyes looked dead.

Russia shuddered, then he dragged America up. "Come'on."

He received no protests from America. He wasn't used to this America.

Luckily, the bath room door was open so he didn't have to go looking for it. Russia sat America down on the toilet, then his hands searched for bandages and cleaning supplies. Russia found them, and brought them over to America. Russia began to pull the bandages off America's wrist, but then a hand stopped them.

"Don't." America warned.

Russia frowned, "I need to clean them."

America repeated, "Don't."

Russia pried his hand away, "I have to."

America let his hand drop, as if he was daring Russia to.

Russia tore the bandages, then grimaced at what he saw. There were scars, fresh cuts, and old cuts healing. Carved across his wrist were the words 'FAT' and 'STUPID'. Child's insults that had affected America to this extent. Russia felt America trying in vain to tug his wrist away. But Russia held firmly.

"Don't look!" America protested.

Russia smiled at him, "If you think I'm mad at you, or hate you, you are wrong. You are my beautiful sunflower and this doesn't change how I feel." He then brought America's arm to his wrist and kissed over the largest of the scars.

America's face flushed a dark red. "T-Thanks, I guess…" America said, turning his head and biting his lip.

Russia smiled, then poured alcohol over the wound, catching it with a towel. He wiped his wrist clean with a soft washcloth, then put the new bandage over. He checked the other wrist, and found cuts there too. He cleaned those as well, then carried America to bed. He layed him down, and was going to leave until the Americans hand grabbed his coat.

"Please don't leave me!" He pleaded, "Everyone else does, just please not you!"

The words struck Russia like a ton of bricks. "Of course." Then he laid down next to America, cuddling him and holding him close. "Goodnight sunflower."

**So what do you think? Then next few chapters will be of America letting Russia know him better, then another world meeting and stuffs…. Yeah… I APOLOGIZE FOR SHORT CHAPTER! DX**


	4. Purge

**Thanks again for all the wonderful reviews! I'm so glad that so many people like the story! AN IM SO SORRY FOR NOT UPDATING RECENTLY, UGH, IVE HAD WRITERS BLOCK AND I LOST THIS CHPATER THEN AND I COULDN'T FIND IT BUT NOW I DID.**

America yawned; he opened his eye to be greeted with a blurry version of his room. He sat up and blinked his eyes a few times before throwing the blankets off and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He glanced over at Russia, who was still sleeping, and let himself slide to the floor. He smiled at the sleeping figure one last time, then walked over to the door. He opened it and stepped out into the hallway. His feet slowly carried him to the living room.

"I wonder if Russia will be hungry…" America said aloud to himself. He peered over the couch, and saw the abandoned McDonalds sitting there.

"Oh, he must have forgotten about that." America murmured. He approached the bags, then scooped them up and brought them outside where he promptly threw them into the giant trash bin next to his garage. He went back inside.

"I could cook something, isn't that what people do when they like someone?" America questioned. He wasn't quite sure if he loved Russia, but he felt something. It was new to have someone who loved him, or even care for him.

He let himself drift to the kitchen as his thoughts wandered more. America opened up the fridge, and he looked inside, his vision still wavered from being tired, but also because he hadn't eaten much recently. He felt a burst of confidence for a change as he pulled out the carton of eggs and the milk. He grabbed four eggs then cracked them into a mixing bowl. He poured milk in, then put the milk and eggs back in the fridge.

He retrieved a fork from the utensils drawer, and began beating the eggs. He set out a pan and poured the egg into it, letting them cook. After those had finished, he took them off the stove and divided them on two different plates. He started the stove up again, but put bacon on instead.

After he finished the meal he set the plates on the table. He heard a bang from his room, signaling that Russia was awake. He jumped a little, then started contemplating what else he should add, finally he figured out what was missing. "Drinks, of course!" America yelled.

He set out glasses and filled them with milk, just as Russia walked in. "Hi, Russia!" America exclaimed.

Russia raised an eyebrow, "You're in an unexpectedly good mood."

America nodded and smiled.

The two sat down at the table and began eating the meal America prepared. America was half-way through his meal and looked like he was going to throw up.

"Are you okay?" Russia questioned.

The young country nodded in response, then set his fork down.

Russia stared at him in concern for a bit, but continued to eat his meal.

America fidgeted at the table, then pushed his chair back and ran out of the room, his mind set on the bath room.

Russia stared after him, his face morphing from confusion to alarm.

America burst through the bath room door and went to the toilet, shoving his finger down his throat. He puked into the toilet, the breakfast he ate spilling out.

Russia pushed the bathroom door aside, hearing the puking. He rushed to America's side, and began stroking the blonds back.

America finally stopped, then hunched down on the floor, his entire body shaking.

Russia sat next to him, stroking his hair and murmuring words of comfort to him. "Shh, America, it's okay."

America buried his face in his hands, he felt ashamed for once, he did that, in front of Russia. "I'm sorry." He rasped.

Russia looked surprised for a moment, then he smiled, "It is fine America, just try not to do it again. How about you eat small quantities of food instead of big meals."

America nodded, "Okay."

They left the bathroom and Russia asked America to eat a piece of bread and drink some warm water.

The two then left for the world meeting.

**OOKAY, woop caps lock, uh, Im gonna slow this down, I feel like its going too fast!**


End file.
